Behind Closed Doors
by DrunkOnJerichohol
Summary: When The Ravishing Russian meets The Best In The World (at what he does), tensions run high, and the pair find unexpected allies within each other. Based loosely on the Highlight Reel from the December 15, 2014 edition of Raw.


**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Any and all original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

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><p>AN: Hello, guys and gals! I wrote this story because, frankly, I love Jericho and I love Lana individually, and together, I see so much chemistry and potential. I actually made a promise to myself a long time ago that if Jericho and Lana ever had a segment together, I would write a one-shot dedicated to them, and they had their brief interaction during the Highlight Reel a couple weeks back, so I went for it. The posting of this story is a bit delayed, because I wasn't sure how to set up the plot, but I finally went for it, and I might write some more of them together in the future, especially if they interact again. If you take the time to read this, I really hope you like it. Thanks, guys!

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><p>Two chilled shots of Aquafina drinking water served as Lana's nightly beverage of choice.<p>

Chris Jericho recognized that fact early on, because he was her watcher. Or her spy. Or her watcher/spy. Yet, he couldn't be blamed for slinking around corners, hiding out in catering to capture the splendid sight of her. Lana was a man's dream, _and_ a woman's nightmare, because her ability to turn females into a green and goopy puddle of envy — almost on command — was a borderline talent. Chris and his wintry baby blues were drawn to her curvy figure whenever she roamed near, and even when she strayed, because he made it a point to locate her, regardless of distance. Almost like a game.

Catering was the only room Lana ever entered without her greasy, musclehead counterpart in tow. Rusev had apparently busied himself with other tasks after returning backstage from The Highlight Reel that Chris had conducted no more than ten minutes earlier, and Lana stuck with her usual routine, drinking her water in peace. The sight always made Chris chuckle, as Russians were stereotypically known for their vodka vices, but not her. She deviated from the alcohol and stuck with plain water, and he liked that about her. Chris found her mysterious and sexy, different from any other Diva who had stepped into the WWE, past or present.

He fiddled with his blond spikes, admiring her effortlessly seductive stance as her eyes combed the empty tables, where the Superstars had clustered together hours prior for their afternoon meals. Clearly, Lana expected she was alone. That made Chris smirk, because he imagined the terror filling her eyes when she spun around and found him waiting there, and he even pictured the wagging of her index finger inches from his face, as she berated him for sneaking up on her. Chris even entertained the thought that she might sic Rusev on him later as a manner of revenge, but that vicious, scowling brute would have to catch him to crush him, and Chris was a fast enough runner to evade the attack.

In his best, most highly-pitched tone, Chris clamped his fists and stomped his feet, shouting in a mock-Russian accent, "Shuddap!"

Lana shrieked and clawed at an invisible threat in the air, her previously secure grasp failing her as the Solo cup she had been drinking out of sailed to the floor. It landed with a ginger pat, the contents spilling out onto the ceramic tiles. Slight dimples formed in each of her cheeks as she ground her teeth and scowled. "You idiot! Look at the mess you made!"

"Excuse me?" Chris tossed back, taking steps across the room and worming his way over. He wore a grin that was nearly proper cause to pull out a pair of sunglasses, which seemed to irritate Lana all the more. She folded her arms over her chest and raised her chin haughtily, making it all the easier for her to look down on him, which seemed a pastime of hers. He shrugged and matched her pose. "You're actually blaming me for this? This is a public place, and I'm allowed to be here just as much as you are. Besides, you're the one who dropped the cup."

"Because you shouted at me," she defended, stamping her black, close-toed pumps against the floor. When Chris covered his mouth with one hand to hide his laughter, the action was enough to set her off. He was in for it now. "You fool, stop laughing. There is nothing funny."

"Shuddap!" Chris yelled, waving his hands and wiggling his fingers at her. As it turned out, Lana didn't take too kindly to mocking gestures.

"You shuddap!" she returned.

"Shuddap," he snapped, rushing in for the kill. "Shuddap, shuddap, shuddap!"

"Enough!" she ordered. Lana covered her ears with both hands and pressed her eyes shut, perhaps hopeful the effort would make Chris disappear. When she opened her eyes and saw him there, her face fell like a jumper without a parachute, which served Chris with a dual cocktail of humor and insult.

He lowered his hand and erased the smile from his face. "Hey, enough of that; I want to ask you something. Why do you always come back here and drink two paper cups of water after leaving the ring? Is that, like, a ritual for you or something? I mean, you do it _all_ the time."

"And how would you know that, Mr. Creepy? You've been following me?" she inquired, and now the wit had changed hands. She was the one wearing the naughty smirk, eyes coursing with unreleased torrents of laughter. A sea of warmth gathered behind his cheeks, and she noticed his embarrassment, because she noticed every detail of her surroundings. That was how Lana operated. She remained silent and searched for weaknesses in opposing forces. Upon finding the sought after ammunition, she pounced like the evil little kitten she was. "Do you follow with binoculars and watch everything I do?"

"Well, no."

"Then, what?" she asked.

"Nothing."

Her eyes narrowed to mere slits and she inhaled deeply, letting the breath out easily. Her warm exhale fluttered against Chris' upper lip and was oddly erotic. His gaze lowered to her puckered lips, stained by cherry red lipstick, and he licked his own lips, imagining how they might feel pressed to hers. Lana tapped her left foot, the tip of her shoe slapping rhythmically against the floor. "If you take a picture, it will last much longer."

"And if you were nicer, you'd be a lot hotter."

She scoffed, turning her head, a French braid preceding the giant bun piled atop her head, which had come to be her signature style. He liked it, for some reason. Made her look classy, dignified. When Chris' hair stood on end only minutes into the encounter, he struggled to understand why his body was reacting in such a way, and it wasn't until he spied Lana looking him over with her critical eye that his onset of anxiety made sense. Somehow, he had caught her interest, and rather than question how he was able to do that, he settled on being thankful for it.

Lana's gaze settled on his upper chest, precisely the spot where his collarbone met his neck, and the gleam in her eyes resurfaced. He could sense a 'mean girl' moment coming on and, sure enough, he got one. She poked her right index finger into his scarf and wrinkled her nose, studying the unpleasant fabric design. "This is ugly. What are these skulls you have here?"

"Uh, they're...skulls," Chris replied, not knowing how else she expected him to answer. She pawed at his favorite winter accessory some more, eyebrows knitting and eyelids squinting. She bunched her nose up, making it small and squished, and he was infatuated once more. The woman was an enigma, and that much was certain.

"Ugly," she muttered.

"Yeah, you mentioned that already."

"Yes, well, I'll be going now. Let me collect my cups," she said, turning her back on him. Chris enjoyed the view from behind, satiating over her Coke bottle shape and the flesh-tight skirt suit hanging off every delicious curve of her body.

"Can I help with anything?"

"_Nyet, spaseeba_," she rushed out.

"Huh?" Chris questioned, scratching the back of his head.

"No, I'm fine," she clarified.

Lana tossed her used cups into the wastebasket near the deserted food line and spun around, ready to saunter right out of the room and, as a result, right out of his life. Chris, however, had other plans. He shoved his hands inside his jean pockets and rocked on his heels, whistling a low tune that made Lana look at him like he had sprouted a second set of ears. She tried to circumvent, but Chris sidestepped and blocked the way. If she made a scene, he would allow her to exit freely, but if not, he would pick her brain.

"What is it now, you foolish man?"

He couldn't help but chuckle at the insult. Her words held just the right amount of bite. "I was thinking, if you've got a few free minutes, we should talk, get to know one another better. I think we got off on the wrong foot out there in the ring, and I couldn't really talk to you the way I wanted to because Rusev was staring me down and looking all threatening."

"He _is_ threatening," she clarified, squaring her shoulders and holding her head high. "You could learn a thing or two from him."

"Honey," Chris started, struggling to hold in a laugh, "I've forgotten more things about wrestling than your little boyfriend has ever learned. If anyone needs help, it's him. I'm not even completely sold on the guy yet, but you," he flirted, reaching up to cup her bun — the one on her head, that is — "I'm definitely sold on everything you've got to offer. You're a hot little number, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am, now get off," she demanded, pushing his hand away from her hair. She straightened her collar and offered a clipped nod. "_Paka_."

"Wait, wait, I've gotta ask you something," he urged, catching her with his hands when she tried to evade.

Between the combination of her forward momentum and the abrupt stop Chris brought her to, she faltered. As she toppled forward, Lana caught Chris' biceps in an attempt to steady herself, which only knocked him off balance in turn. They sailed clumsily through the air, a mass of frantic limbs as they tried catching onto any object that might assist in steadying their bodies. Their unexpected trip only came to a stop when his backside slammed into the edge of a table positioned a few feet away, and Lana smacked into his front, her chest pressed firmly against his.

His panting rippled across her neck, and she responded with a shiver, sliding her palms off his built arms. Her gaze grew distracted and devoid of emotion, like she were trying to figure Chris out. In truth, he wasn't wholly certain what had sent him chasing after Lana that night. They weren't friends and would certainly never be lovers, if Lana had her say in the matter, but she was the iron that attracted his inner magnet, and he couldn't help the direction in which his feelings led. None of it made sense, and Chris could imagine his unending persistence was even more mind-boggling for Lana.

"I should be going," she said, but her body remained pressed to his, and she wasn't making any sudden moves. She pointed blindly away from him, her breath only coming out in frantic spurts. The pulse of her heartbeat thumped soundly against Chris' chest, near his own heart. "I have to get back to Rusev."

"I'm not stopping you," Chris shrugged. He held his breath and prayed she wouldn't take that as a true signal to leave. He wanted her to stay. "But I'd like to talk, if you can."

"What is it to you?" Lana demanded.

"What's what to me?" he shot back, baffled.

"Whether I stay or I go. What is it to you?" she repeated. "You shouldn't care. We don't even like each other."

"I don't dislike you."

"You just made fun of me in front of all those people," she pointed out.

"So? That's what I do to girls I like," Chris grinned, thinking back to all those times he had teased Stephanie McMahon so relentlessly. He considered it akin to the little boy on the playground who threw rocks and pulled the hair of the little girl he liked. Making jokes at a woman's expense was his way of picking on them, which was a subtle hint he used to show his fondness. Although he couldn't explain why, Chris liked Lana, and if she looked deep inside herself and made a choice to learn about him, she might be surprised to find her feelings weren't too far off from his.

"Well, I didn't find it funny, and you're a jerk." She gained her bearings and used her hands to drive herself out of his arms. She had business to attend to, and it wouldn't get handled in the arms of a man who enjoyed blasting her character in front of the public. She took one, two, three steps across the room, poised to slip out the door unnoticed, when a stern voice brought her to a skidding stop.

"Lana!" Rusev called, voice echoing off the arena walls. He was nearby.

For a second, she was lost, stumbling and searching frantically from left to right, brows settled in a grim line as she decided which action to take. Rusev called her name a second time, even closer than before, and she pointed her flawlessly manicured finger, hissing lowly at Chris. "Get in the closet!"

"No way," he rebuffed.

"Shh!" she exclaimed, positioning her index finger over her lips as she shushed him like a child. "He's coming, and if he sees you in here, he'll want a fight. Get in the closet!"

"That thing?" Chris said, following her pointer finger. "That's a little storage closet. I'm not getting in there."

"Hurry," she ordered, nearly burning a hole straight through the catering room door. Chris expected Rusev to burst through at any moment and try to spear him or something, but it wouldn't happen. Not on his watch. Chris refused to fear Lana's pompous boyfriend, and there was no way in hell he would hide. He much preferred to stand firm and retain his man card. "I said go," she ordered.

"I'm not hiding from that guy, Lana. Sorry, not gonna happen," Chris said.

He fiddled absently with his scarf, grunting when a swift force smacked into his abdomen. Before he had time to blink or even defend himself, Lana had shoved him over to the closet door. She tugged on the doorknob with her left hand and hustled Chris inside with her right, following after and shutting the door behind them. The pitch blackness was jarring, and Lana immediately raised her hand, searching around blindly for some sort of light source.

Her hand was still raised in the air when light washed over the room, and she found Chris holding onto the chain dangling from the center of the ceiling. She nodded in appreciation and brought her index finger up to her lips again, reminding him to be quiet. The catering room door clicked open, and the pair froze while they waited. Rusev's booming voice sounded from just outside their hiding spot. "Lana!"

When Chris nudged her leg with his knuckles, she slapped his hand and glared, whispering, "You are like a child. Grow up and shut up."

"Sorry," he whispered back. After calling her name a final time, Rusev gave up, and Lana held her breath until his exit was confirmed by the slamming of the door. She released a breath held captive inside her chest, and Chris even thought he noticed a sweat bead or two forming near the top of her forehead, right where her hairline began.

"He is gone. I should go catch up," she determined. Lana straightened her suit and dusted it off, although Chris hadn't seen any offending particles on the material to begin with. He didn't try to physically stop her that time, but his question had the same effect, yanking her back without the force of touch.

"Why do you have to hide from Rusev?" Chris asked. Lana halted and turned slowly, almost comically, as she faced him, a frown marring her doll face. "Like, why do we have to hide in a closet with a bunch of canned foods?" he continued, motioning to the semi-filled shelves surrounding them. "You shouldn't have to lie."

"It's how Rusev is. He does not trust me alone with his enemies, and I don't want to make friction," she explained, still smoothing her skirt. Chris couldn't tell if she truly wanted to iron the wrinkles out or if the action was a nervous gesture. "We are good and strong, only when we stick together. We don't like outside people."

"What's an outside person?"

"Someone who's not one of us. Americans, usually," she spat out distastefully. The chronic crinkle in her nose returned. "You are mostly liars and fools, but I guess some of you might not be so bad. You are okay, I've decided," she settled, pinching her index finger and thumb together to demonstrate exactly how okay she found him to be. "You make me angry, but back here, away from the cameras, you are an okay guy. I hate you less than other people here."

Chris had to chuckle, placing his hand on her forearm. This time, she didn't cringe or pull away. "That's one hell of a compliment coming from you. I'll take it." She returned his smile, and his heart skipped a beat. Progress had been made. He didn't know what possessed him to press forward, but he did. "We don't know each other all that well, so you don't have to answer if you don't want to, but can I ask a personal question?"

"What do you want to know?" she wondered. Lana tipped her head, waiting for the inquiry to follow.

"Are you really happy with Rusev?"

"Yes," she stated, and he knew it was the truth, because she had shown no hesitation. Her shoulders squared, and the confidence radiated off of her in waves. "We make a good team."

"I guess you do, but if that guy comes at me, I'm gonna have to defend myself."

She gave a succinct nod. "Do what you have to do, Jericho."

"Awesome, good talk," Chris said, raising his right hand and curling his fingers over. "Fist bump."

"Yes, sure," she agreed, making a fist of her own and lightly mashing it into his. "Fist bump, as you call it." Disappointment flooded in when Lana's hand fell to rest on the doorknob, but something stopped her, and she turned, reaching for his hand and bringing it to her mouth. She pressed her lips to his skin, leaving the red outline as a memento. His gaze was questioning, and she offered a closed-mouth smile that reeked of tentativeness. "You're not so bad, Chris Jericho."

"Thanks, Lana. I like you, too."

"I didn't say I liked you," she smirked, correcting his mistake. "Just that you're the least bad of all the Americans I know."

"Alrighty then," Chris accepted, feeling the sting of her verbal slap. "See you 'round."

"You will," she promised, thumbing his scarf one last time. "This is still ugly."

"Thanks a lot."

"_Pazhalooysta_," Lana murmured through force of habit, this time opening the door fully. A cool breeze from the other side swept in, and it was only then Chris realized how stuffy the storage closet was. "_Paka_." Then, in a flash, she was gone.

"I have no idea what the hell she just said, but she makes anything sound good," Chris noted, to no one in particular.

Once the storage door clicked shut, and he was left only with the subtle essence of her lingering perfume, a mix of cotton candy and vanilla, Chris reflected on his night. Her scent, her entire being, intoxicated him in all the right ways, and he remained fixed to his spot, desperate to wear off the drunkenness of lust and desire. He leaned against a dingy shelf holding several cans of vegetables: corn, sliced carrots, green beans, and the like. Chris swept his fingers through his hair, sighing as he attempted to regain all the energy Lana had zapped from him. Week by week, he planned to work on her like a project.

Chris would chisel away at her ice casing, until he reached the real Lana.

And when he did, there would be no hiding behind the secrecy of closed doors.


End file.
